Behind the Glass

Daisy ran through the woods barefoot, the ground slick with cold mud. Branches clawed at her skin, and the air buzzed with static. The moon was huge, full—but eerily still, like a photograph. Too perfect.

Behind her: footsteps. Soft. Measured. Not running. Just... following.

She didn't know how she got there. She only knew she couldn't stop. Her lungs burned, her heart slammed against her ribs, and still she ran. The trees seemed closer now, leaning in, their branches twitching like they were listening.

"Daaaaisy..."

She stumbled into a clearing. At its center stood a tall mirror. Not mystical or ancient—just a normal bedroom mirror, cracked at the corners. It was the only familiar thing in this nightmare. Her own mirror, from her room.

She stepped closer. Her reflection stared back—expressionless, but wrong. Off. As if it were mimicking her a beat too late.

Then it tilted its head, just slightly.

Daisy froze.

"Time to wake up," it said.

Her vision blurred. She felt a jolt—like falling—and gasped, sitting upright in bed.

Her room.

Safe. Dim morning light seeped through the blinds. She laughed softly, brushing hair from her face. Her heart still raced, but the nightmare was fading.

She reached for her phone.

7:06 a.m.

She turned toward the mirror on her closet door. Her reflection blinked. So did she. But the reflection didn’t stop. It kept blinking. Fast. Unnaturally fast. Like a glitch. She stood slowly, walking to the mirror.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Still dreaming?”

Her reflection smiled. “No,” it whispered. “You never woke up.”

Behind her, the closet door creaked open.

But her reflection didn’t turn.

It just watched. Smiling.

And Daisy realized: she was still dreaming.

Or worse.

Someone else was dreaming her.

"Who knows".............